


Time Alone With You

by ladyeternal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexy Schmoop, Threesome - M/M/M, technical Wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of love, suspended in time. Two brothers worshipping an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Alone With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiptoe39](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/gifts).



> Spoilers: If you’ve watched all of Season Five, none.
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, certain events would NEVER have happened and there would be unabashed pr0n. I’m only playing with this world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Just a little OT3 pornlet inspired by [this picture](http://tewi.us/tegaki/dblog.php?u=114928&e=1388964) that [tiptoe39](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39) tweeted a while back. Beta’d by the truly magnificent [](http://secondplatypus.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://secondplatypus.livejournal.com/)**secondplatypus**. This doesn’t take place in any particular ‘verse or season. It’s quite likely my closest approximation to PWP to date.
> 
> Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.
> 
> Music: [No Ordinary Love – Sade](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Sade:No_Ordinary_Love)  
> [Time Alone With You – Bad English](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Bad_English:The_Time_Alone_With_You)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Something about how they fit together: pale graceful limbs splayed around a longer, tawny frame; his angel’s weight supported by his brother’s powerful muscles. Dean never stopped being amazed at how beautiful they were together, how lucky he was that they let him see.

Let him watch as Castiel, bared by both humans’ reverent touches, slid across his brother’s lap, Sam’s massive hands gliding up Castiel’s arms so gently they seemed barely to touch the angel’s skin. Dean wouldn’t be sure except for the way Castiel’s eyes shuttered closed, his mouth parting in quiet exhalation just before he swayed into Sam’s space, and Sam met him halfway.

The kiss was so slow, indulgent. Unhurried moments like this were precious, when lust and adrenaline weren’t riding them hard and they could just immerse themselves in each other. Savor the way Sam’s right hand slipped from Castiel’s shoulder to Dean’s as his mouth opened beneath Castiel’s, inviting Dean closer as he tempted the angel’s tongue with his own. Inhale the stardust scent of Castiel’s skin as Dean bent closer, whispering his lips up the curve of Castiel’s shoulder.

It was easy to get lost in this, to just drift between kisses, to hear Castiel sigh under gentle nibbles, to worship that pale, perfect skin. Castiel made tiny noises in his throat, nearly-translucent lids flickering over those blue-black eyes as he tried every so often to will them open, to look on the beautiful humans that lovingly mapped his body with their fingertips, emotions unspoken but infused through every touch.

Soft. Tender. Words that so seldom described their lives, if not their hearts. Dean could feel the magic of it weave around and through them, a spell they for once didn’t need to fight or break. Instead, he cast it himself, with Sam’s help, the pads of weapons-callused fingers ghosting over each of Castiel’s ribs, occasionally finding Sam’s where they traced from the hollows of the angel’s shoulders and down the backs of his deceptively strong arms.

“Beautiful…”

“Ours…”

“Belonged with us from the start…”

“Can never repay you…”

“Love you so much…”

“Perfect in our hands…”

Light fingers, Dean’s, teasing down to the delicate curve of Castiel’s cleft. Sam kissed the tremulous gasp from the angel’s lips with a tender chuckle, and then his huge hands were gliding with purpose down that slender body, coming to rest over the taut lower cheeks and gently spreading them. Castiel let out a low cry, trying to twist closer, to get friction against Sam. Both Winchesters traced kisses over whatever skin they could reach, quieting, reassuring.

“We’ll get you there, Cas.”

“Trust us, angel. It’ll be worth the wait.”

All too often, their pleasures were fierce, bright-edged couplings undercut by adrenaline and hampered by time constraints. And when they weren’t, Castiel often wound up in control, enjoying the chance to profess his love and devotion to his hunter-wards in a way both understood and accepted without question. But the brothers liked conspiring against their angel, taking him by surprise and expressing in that same language just how precious he was to them.

Angels were made for love, to be in it and of it and receive it and exude it all at once. Every so often, without ever needing to discuss it, Sam and Dean would agree that their angel needed to feel that again.

Sam kissing the sounds out of Castiel’s mouth, their erections bobbing and nudging together with every skittering heartbeat. Dean opening the angel with nearly too-slick fingers while murmuring nonsensical praise and brushing his lips over the back of Castiel’s neck. Both refusing to hurry this, no matter how sweetly the seraph begged.

Dean managing a third finger, then a fourth, slow as he could while his free hand petted the angel’s sweat-damp hair. Sam gentling Castiel when he jerked and moaned like he was ready to die from want, urging him to let them… “just let us, Cas… we love you so much…”

This was the closest the brothers could come to approximating the overwhelming, consuming, infinite Love their angel had spent millennia immersed in. It wasn’t enough. It was everything.

No matter whose lap Castiel was in, no matter how often Sam tried to demur and let Dean feel that first consuming stroke, Dean always guided Cas down onto Sam first. Let Sam’s need press deep and give Castiel a chance to adjust. Despite Dean’s sophomoric teasing, Sam was bigger. It was a fact, like him having longer hair or a wider grip or ground-eating strides that Dean sometimes had to run to keep up with.

If asked, Dean would say he let Sam in first because it opened Cas more effectively, made this easier on all of them. A master sensual strategist, he gave Sam the first thrust because it made Cas better able to take them both. That wasn’t the reason, though.

The reason was that as Dean guided Castiel’s hips down Sam’s length in an achingly slow glide, Castiel always let out this barely human sound: somewhere between a gasp and a wail and a choral note in his true voice.

It was a sound that never failed to make Dean fall in love with his angel all over again.

“We got you, Cas,” Dean always whispered, lips caressing the shell of the angel’s ear. Sam was already easing back against the mountain of pillows, bringing Cas with him, giving Dean a better angle. “Gonna film this someday… let you see how fucking amazing you look like this… love you so much, Cas.”

Tiny hitching breaths from Castiel, each ending on a truncated cry that pleaded for Dean to come into him, to complete their trinity, now more holy to him than any Father or Son or Spirit. Sam was biting back his own little gasps as the angel’s body clutched, muscles flexing for want of the more they knew was forthcoming.

Dean liked drawing this part out: liked prolonging the wait for all of them, liked taking his very sweet time as he found his angle and pushed. Feeling Castiel’s body stretch impossibly wider, hungry for him, for both of them. Following the granite ridge of Sam’s need up into the satin-slick heat of their angel. Hearing a hiss of breath and an unsteady cry from Sam as the tip of Dean’s erection nudged the spongy, sensitive hood of his brother’s.

Words always formed, indistinct sounds that were supposed to have meaning. None registered beyond the impression of them being spoken, blurred beyond recognition as the lines of reality dissolved into a haze of sensation. Of skin and sweat and soft motion, rhythm like a heartbeat, like the ocean, like Time itself slowing around them.

Sam’s hips undulating like a dancer’s, sinuous and unceasing. Dean stroking out and in, out and in, a deep counterpoint to Sam’s shallow. Every movement, every touch, every sound and scent and color sharp where the rest of the world seemed like a watercolor painting left in the rain.

And at the center, Castiel. Their angel, at the center as they gave and gave only as Sam and Dean Winchester could, until the seraph was drowning in them, willingly consumed, an orgasm wrenching out with a guttural Enochian scream. The ripple and clench of overstretched muscles always seemed to tear through both humans, one and then the other spilling helplessly within the greedy chasm of Castiel’s body.

Softening flesh, slipped or urged free. Limbs wooden from sweet languor barely coaxed to perform one final task, getting them down and curled onto their sides before succumbing to numb pliancy, Castiel tucked in between them. Dean’s fingers always found Sam’s, interlacing over Castiel’s hip. A sweet smile, a whisper of cleansing grace, and then sleep beckoned to them, beguiling as any kiss.

They never said the words on nights like these, when it was over. There was never any need.


End file.
